Darkness Rising (Ancient Vestiges Book 1)

by Brenden Gardner

  “Lest you give me the severed head of this advisor, your Brood will be cut down. I will take you back to Lanan, and I will show your overlord the justice owed to him three years past. Then I will break your ships, burn your harbours, leaving naught on the islands but a broken husk. Then you will join him.”

  “I accede to your terms.”

  “Ser Johnathan and Ser Geoffrey, take account of their numbers and return to the courtyard whence you are ready.”

  Ser Johnathan and Ser Geoffrey looked at her scornfully, but she smiled happily as they brushed past her.

  A head shall be delivered to my dear Damian, but it shall not be mine.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Waking Nightmares

  Johnathan saw Klara in the distance.

  She seemed no more than a fleeting shadow; a shade against the gloom of the early night. He thought it may have been no more than a trick of his eye: a visage that he wanted to see at the end. He dismissed that. It was the swordswoman from the islands.

  E’er since leaving Dale, he looked for the elusive swordswoman; tried to discern her movements and patterns. He set guards day and night outside the command tents, and sent off trusted men to scout the borders of forests, across hilly plains, or the crannies of barren rock lands. Naught did they see or hear, but he knew Klara was nearby, skulking.

  The words of the Voice resounded loudly, as if he heard it for the first time: If Ser Elin should not return from the imperium, we may yet be strong. If we celebrate victory, laud those who fight in the Light of Mother God, we may yet have a chance of unity. If Ser Elin does not return, we would be strong.

  They were words that he did not want to hear for months. Words that he would have thrown away his rank and titles for. Now there was naught that he would do to hinder them.

  “Vows will be kept, Lord Protector, rest assured of that,” Aerona Harkan said quietly. Ser Elin Durand strode further ahead, closeted with Lady Deborah, though Johnathan was at unease with the boldness of the Harpy.

  “You would do well to keep silent. He still does not trust you—and neither do I.”

  “It is of convenience, this arrangement?” Aerona asked while fingering the pommel of her blade, caressing the great winged bird. “There are some who would not take well to your words, ser, a young woman most of all. I do hope that you do not intend to turn on me. I am not felled easily.”

  “We are of one mind,” Johnathan replied sternly, refusing to reveal his heart. He cast his eyes away from the Harpy’s glare. “If this is the path he says we must walk, then I would walk it proudly. Why else would I contend with you?”

  “Oh, ser, if ever you had guile, it has long left you.” Aerona chuckled slightly. “You and I have much to do ere the imperium truly falls. I do not expect trust, no more than I have given you. Yet do not take me for a fool. I am not a slip of a girl in over her head. Do not cross me.”

  Do not fly too close to the sun, or you may be mottled. “I have seen some of what awaits. You would be wise to grant deference.”

  “Wisdom, you call it? I do not doubt that you have seen some mystery that you cannot explain. Your eyes cast a grand story. Oh, the vaunted knight who has survived much. Plenty I have seen, and if you had but a glimpse of that, your eyes would belie fear and terror.”

  “Is that why you come to our embrace? You are frightened of the dead and the defeated?”

  “Do not make jest of it!” Aerona said harshly, scowling. “There is more to this war than warriors with sword in hand. Apparitions, relics, treasures, the unseen and unknown. I do not know what you have endured, but it is not myth or legend. You do not believe that.”

  Johnathan once thought words from High Servitor Jophiel profane, but the passing months forced him to rethink much: the mounds of dead upon the fields, the terror and desecration of Serenity, the loss of Lord Gareth Polin in the mountains, and the indescribable terror of monsters and daemons of nightmares. It was why he urged trust the of islanders, though he could not fathom admitting that to the Harpy.

  “I believe what I see with my own eyes.”

  The city faded behind as Johnathan walked through to Cimmerii’s Hold. Ser Kevan Jarn remained at the cross roads with the second and third company, fortifying whatever remained of Isil. Much of the first company guarded Ser Elin, Ser Geoffrey Rhatin, and Lady Deborah Teran. Johnathan insisted on Ser Tomas Marst and Lady Melissa Herin to attend whilst the Harpy pursued the relics.

  The courtyard was barren and sere, and a warm wind cut through. Trees hung over sharply, and only a remnant of the cobbled road remained. The outer wall rose in the distance, and the gate was askew.

  He looked to and fro but could not see a body or cairn. Boot prints and blood marked the battle, but the body of the Black Wrath was nowhere to be seen.

  “You buried him?” Johnathan asked.

  “No,” the Harpy replied.

  The answer shot through him, twisting in his gut. “Then where is the Black Wrath?”

  “Where are the people of Isil, Johnathan?”

  It was not a question he could answer. When he emerged from the mountains, the city was deserted, save for her defenders. At first, he thought it was akin to Serenity—the Isilians naught more than the playthings for the Faceless Shadow. He scoured the homes and there were no corpses nor blood, but marks of habitations were abound: cloth dolls littered upon the floor, clothing hanging upon lines, curtains draping across the windows, and firewood tightly stacked against the stone walls.

  “Hidden in the keep,” Johnathan answered. “Where else would they go?”

  “I would rather not say,” Aerona replied, shrugging her shoulders.

  He passed through the gate and saw Cimmerii’s Hold in the distance. Towers thrust up from a wide keep, glimmering sable even in the fading light. The buttresses and wall walks were sharp and edged, as if broken off from bedrock.

  Ser Elin called out, and much of the first company stretched out along the walls, standing sentry. Hurrying, Johnathan joined Ser Elin at the head. Aerona came up behind.

  Set amid the front face were immense grey doors. The right door was ajar, and Ser Elin called for silence. Johnathan heard a scraping sound, and a grunt of pain. He drew his sword and followed after Ser Elin, who already had Judgment in his hand.

  A plate clad sentinel was crawling along with only one arm; the other was severed at the elbow, and his legs were limp and useless. Blood smeared a scarred and mutilated face, and his brown hair was matted by blood and dirt. The man spoke hoarsely. “He… he warned you. He warned… you… Ser Elin… you did not… listen. Now you will die like the rest of us.”

  “Ian,” Ser Elin replied, bending down, sword still in hand. “Does Rafael still live? Does he still fight?”

  “Live… a jest,” the broken sentinel croaked. “I was taken to a… dark place… beneath the southern hall. The stairs… so long and horrible… I saw him there. He fought against him. I do not know how long he… held against… Lord Kaldred, but he fought. I watched… I wanted to help. All of us… could only… watch. Told us… the price… of defiance. Rafael did not relent… give in… not while the beasts… ravaged us… fed on the dead. Leave… do not come back…”

  “I will not leave without the imperator’s head.”

  “Fool. Dalian fool,” Ian coughed, hacking up blood. “The Black Storm… wills it. He always did. You… why did you… you…”

  Ian fell flat. All life gone from his eyes.

  “Take him away,” Ser Elin commanded.

  Johnathan bowed his head and offered a prayer. May you find the Mother’s warm embrace. He raised his head and looked upon the cruel, disfigured corpse. The pus in Ian’s limbs festered: yellow mixed with black and the crimson of blood. His skin was cracked and withered, and his veins were black as sable. The corpse emitted a putrid stench.

  There was no cause for this. No failure and retribution worthy of it.

  “Do you doubt my words now?” Aerona asked suddenly.
r />   “I have given you leave to pursue your fantasies,” Ser Elin replied. “Do not press it further.”

  “What man does that to another? The imperator is proud and vain, but he is not mad.”

  Ser Elin looked to Johnathan. “Some men take to desperation whence the realm crumbles all around them.”

  You know, then, but do you know I would have once done anything for you? Argath Diomedes is not the only one mad.

  “Do not be rash, Ser Elin,” Aerona said dismissively, though the knight turned his back and walked away.

  Johnathan put a hand on Aerona’s shoulder, and she did not flinch. “What did Ian mean by beast?” It seemed important to know, somehow.

  Aerona closed her eyes and replied solemnly. “I have seen this savagery before. It was the day I began to question my consort. Does Lakarn hold any meaning to you?”

  The name was familiar, but beyond it being in the bounds of the overlord, he did not know.

  “It meant much to me,” the Harpy said sharply. “There was but one man who survived Lakarn. We found him in his home, trembling, flailing against enemies unseen. We tried to calm him, but the Corsair, he threw the Crimson Swords at him, near knocked the lad out. I looked at what he was protecting—”

  “You do not have to—”

  “Do not comfort me!” she rounded on him. “They were ravaged. The meat of their limbs gnawed off. All in a pile. Luc did not know anything. I still do not know if he did it or not, but we found a small crystal that was more like a polished rock — there were indecipherable black lines upon its face. Damian took possession of it. Its kin were brought by the Faceless Shadow to this city. That is where the people are. Dead. Ser Elin cannot see that. He is a bloody fool.”

  Serenity, Johnathan thought, looking to his old friend. He alone survived it, but the people were not ravaged. Was that his choice or—

  The doors creaked open, and he walked to the threshold; the knights were behind, Ser Elin to the left, and Aerona to the right. The keep was dark; a grim, dirty emptiness. Johnathan stared into the bleakness and felt a creeping presence slithering towards him. Is Ian just the beginning?

  “Brands!” Ser Elin called out and entered the keep.

  Johnathan followed, waving his brand, but the light was swallowed up by the encroaching dark. His footfalls echoed in the dim bleak; and he slowly tread forth, looking around. Furnishings to the sides were covered in cobwebs and thick layers of dust. Pillars rose in the antechambers, stark and grey. Carpets ran to the west, north, and south, but he could not see much beyond a few feet.

  As if triggered by his thoughts, the dark seemed to deepen, and the light from the brands seemed to fade to a dull glower. He tried to listen, but all he heard was the shuffling of plate and echoes across the stone.

  Ser Elin called for a halt before two rows of pillars leading west, and a grim dark beyond. “This is the path to the Mountain,” he declared. “You are insistent on following the cries of our foes, Aerona?”

  “I believe his words,” Aerona replied. “His eyes told me much.”

  “Then go.”

  Aerona and her Brood turned south, but Johnathan lingered, looking long at his dear friend. It was hard. “You do not trust her?”

  “I ne’er have,” Ser Elin said, shrugging his shoulders. “Nor her words. You will come upon naught, old friend, while I will find an old, withered man, taken by madness. I will see you at the cross roads.”

  The knight-commander extended an arm, and Johnathan clasped it. “At the cross roads, then.”

  He watched until Ser Elin was lost to sight, and mouthed a farewell.

  May you find rest in the Mother’s embrace.

  He called out to Ser Tomas and Lady Melissa, then turned south, and discovered the Harpy waiting. “You should not linger.”

  The knights went ahead, and the Brood were striding headlong. “After you, my lady.”

  “I do despise gentlemen,” Aerona said derisively.

  Johnathan thought he saw a slight smile on her lips, but in the dark ‘twas all shadows. “You will not have to stomach me for much longer.”

  “Good,” Aerona said. “I can barely stand the stench of you as it is.”

  Johnathan followed the red carpet south, and gazed to the walls and saw caricatures of weathered plains, towering mountains, and green pastures. The latter must be of what they want. This land was always a wasteland. Suits of armour lined up upon tall stands, dark and black. Broad swords, claymores, war hammers, and spiked maces were on display, amid other furnishings covered by thick layers of dust.

  After a time, he thrust the brand high, and saw a deeper darkness above, and a swirling grey against it, suffused by a dark sable.

  That is the same as—

  Memories of the descent through the mountain flashed before him. A great mass of shadows and darkness coalesced, pushing away the dim, grey light; it thundered down towards him, his knights, and Lord Gareth Polin.

  The lord steward stood defiantly, whence all Johnathan could do was fall upon the ground, head in hands, all the while that terrifying voice rattled inside his skull. Lord Gareth was shouting at the mass of darkness that Johnathan could scarcely glimpse. No words of their speech he heard. It was so close but so far and—

  “Johnathan!” Aerona spoke loudly. “It turns west.”

  He shook his head and looked ahead. “West.”

  “What did you see?”

  He walked forward and looked aside. He did not want to belie familiarity, not to her. “They are my memories, and I shall keep them to myself.”

  “You would not call me a liar?”

  “That would do neither of us any good, not in this place.”

  He halted before a gathering of knights and swordswomen. He saw a chipped, decrepit door ajar, and felt a cold wind blowing from out of it.

  “Mistress,” one of Aerona’s swordswomen spoke up. She was tall and dark of skin. “This is no chamber, but a staircase that spirals downward. It is an odd place to house a descent into the dungeons, but it is like any entrance that we have yet discovered.”

  “That is where the relics—and Lord Kaldred—are,” Aerona said, turning to Johnathan. “We should be few.”

  He left Lady Melissa Herin and Ser Tomas Marst at the door, and said to them, “Three hours. If we have not returned, you find Ser Kevan and bring the second and third companies hither. Whatsoever these Brood may think of it.”

  “Lord Protector,” Lady Melissa spoke up, as he began to turn. “Do be careful. I would guard your door once more.”

  Johnathan smiled and nodded, pleased by the memory of happier days.

  One of the Brood pulled the door open, and Johnathan stepped through. He bent low and waved the brand downwards. The stairs were carved from the outer wall, sprawling down in a wide spiral. The cold wind seemed to pick up, but the flame burned strong and still.

  He took each step slowly and watched his feet at every step downwards. It was not like the grim darkness of Mount Cimmerii: just bleak and empty. The cold wind gusted up and shook his bones.

  The only sound was the harsh wind and the foot falls behind. It was a steady reminder that he was not alone; it emboldened him, much as it did during the dark descent.

  Whatever awaits, it will be no worse than what we faced in that mountain. I will not lose another, no, not even the Harpy.

  “It bores into the mountain,” Aerona said to him softly through the wind. “Lord Kaldred will be in the bowels.”

  Whatsoever Lord Kaldred truly was, Johnathan did not think the daemon awaited below. He thought the stair must curve away to the north-west to reach it depths, and the way instead bored straight down, beyond Mount Cimmerii’s reaches. “Do not speak of what you do not know.”

  “What did you truly see beneath the mountain, Ser Johnathan?”

  Titles will not loosen my lips, Harpy. “Just more of this dark. More of this endless dark.”

  She fell silent, and Johnathan looked ever downward, taking st
ep by careful step. He felt prickles on his skin, as a cold seemed to rise. Then, in the depths, espied a faint, dirty light that grew.

  He willed himself faster, moving towards the light. His ears filled with scraping sounds, and wood cracking against stone. The knights and swordswomen behind him started chattering, but before he could silence them, the path ended, and a decayed wooden door flapped against the wind. A dark passage lay beyond.

  “Swords,” Johnathan called, and the sound of steel against leather filled his ears. “We have come too far to falter. Too many lay dead to deliver aught but vengeance. Ser Elin will cut down Imperator Argath Diomedes for his sins, whilst we cleanse the advisors and councillors, the nobles, and wealthy merchants. All who acceded to the imperator’s madness. Whatsoever we find, we shall hew and take.”

  “You do give a riveting speech, Lord Protector,” Aerona said. “But the time for words has passed.”

  He strode into the passage.

  It was dark and dreary, but cutting it in slices was a light: at one moment, pristine, the next dirty and discoloured. He heard chanting ahead, but not in common; it was high pitched, angry, and loathsome. He ran forward, suffused by a blinding light.

  “You have come. It was not just of you to abandon me in my time of need, nor send knights to come after me. What would the Voice have to say to that?”

  He knew the voice belonged to Lord Gareth, but the lord steward was dead. “You are an illusion!”

  “Am I?”

  Against the canvas of light was a man cloaked in sable, with a hood draping down his back. His hair sat in curls, though his eyes were deep-set and cold. Johnathan thought it was Lord Gareth, but that was madness. “You died. I lost you. I watched you die.”

  “You saw what the dark god wanted you to see. Pray tell, do you have any recollection of two men speaking above you, whilst Sariel took me into His service?”

  Johnathan stumbled and saw naught but monstrous churning clouds descending, filling his head with pain and sorrow. “No. There were no men.”